


Suffer The Little Children

by orphan_account



Category: My Chemical Romance
Genre: Anorexia, Canonical Character Death, Child Abuse, Eating Disorders, M/M, Murder, Rape, Sexaul Abuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-03-03
Updated: 2012-03-03
Packaged: 2017-11-01 01:39:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 10
Words: 11,657
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/350561
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Frank Iero is a sixteen year old boy living with his mother. </p><p>Frank has a secert, his mother abuses him, she beats him, rapes him and he's stick thin because of her games. One person knows of his abuse, and Frank is too afriad to tell his story and speak the truth of it....</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Suffocated

**Author's Note:**

> A/N – I’m going to warn you all right now, this fic comes straight from the heart. This is actually based off something I heard about when my mom did foster care, and what I heard from the girls we used to take in for months or years to give them a safe place to live. I can still remember the day a seven year old named Bethany came into our home, and had her grandmother starve and beat her- the other details need not to be mentioned.

Chapter Zero:Suffocated

 

My name isn’t much of an importance. I was never called by it at home anyway. I can’t even remember the last time that bitch- my mother or what she liked me to call her when I was younger- <i> _Mommy </i>_. I haven’t called her that in years, it was when I realized that what she was doing was wrong and I tried to fight back. That was a big mistake on my part. You see I’m an only child and my father left that bitch years ago. He was smart, wish he had taken me with him.

 

I wish he had. My mother resorts to these “games” when I’m a bad child. For instance, I’m not allowed to get a single detention or anything lower than a B+ on a report card, when I was younger she was sweet to me and never did anything wrong, she started doing these games when I was seven after dad left. After he left my life went to hell.These games were varies things she came up with, she’s forced me at one point to drink bleach, I was sick for days after that, throwing up whatever I ate. Other “games” involved me being beaten or other things that made me as much I didn’t want to scream in pain for hours or feel it for days. Sometimes though they were even worse, my mother loved to use me when she got lonely, complaining I was the reason dad left her. That because of me he thought she wasn’t pretty anymore, and so she started forcing me to. I don’t even want to say it. It makes me feel vile and so repulsed. 

 

I forgot to mention to, if I got low grades she would let me only eat once a week and it was a piss poor amount of food. Food was taken away from me for other reasons too, and she always seemed to know when I took food at school because she had forced me to get sick at one point, and vomit up frozen foods I had stolen one day, she had made me ate that in vomit form and that brought around a whole new round of vomiting, and she just laughed at me calling me a bitch and kicking my in the side with her heels, I was filthy by that point and reeked of vomit because I had gotten sick so many times.

 

Not that anyone actually cared and did anything to help me at school. They thought I was some emo-bitch and the teachers believed my lies of falling into things or tripping down stairs. No one really paid me notice, it’s not like I let my grades slip and I came to school dressed normally. The only thing my mom had let me do that had made me happy was pierce my lip; the bitch had said I was able to do it because I had been such a good boy. I was sixteen now, she had broken me into all this at fourteen. In school I fell out of social clichés because I was so quiet and because I hardly even spoke in less spoken too. I didn’t even look up half the time or answer if someone called my name. It just had no meaning in less a teacher said it, I didn’t answer other kids. 

 

As much as I loved the peacefulness of school, it had to end. It always did. I tried not to think as I entered my house. I tried not to think. My mother was sitting by the table tapping her fingers against her leg. “Homework?” I nodded. Homework first “games” later. It was always the same, let me do my work then beat the shit out of me. “Bathroom tonight Frankie.” Her voice was a taunt, I felt sick on the other hand.

 

My homework was done much too fast it seemed and my mother was humming as she mixed a bucket up something up. She beckoned me over with her finger. “You know the rules my precious child. You have a half hour to clean. She shoved me into the bathroom and I fell face first onto the floor the door slamming closed behind me, the bucket near my face. The mixture produced a fine grey like smoke into the air, and each breath I took was poison. It burned my lungs, it made them go raw, and I choked on my breath. I coughed roughly into the floor my fingers twitching. Half hour, <i> _come on Frankie, you can do this don’t think about it, find a way to get clean air_. </i>

 

I don’t know how I managed to even move. My lungs felt raw, they felt like they were being gone in seconds, it hurt so much too even breathe. I let my fingers grab at the damp rag she gave me, and pressed it against my nose. It helped a little not much, it hurt still. It felt like my lungs were on fire. <i> _Was there an air vent in here?_ </i> The air vent was on the floor, small but enough, I pressed my face over it and kicked the bucket to the other side of the bathroom away from me. Every time it gave air, I would take a breath of it, but it hurt as well to do so, by the time that was done with, I felt close to passing out, and the bitch grabbed me by my hair pulling me to my feet and dragging me out of the room. “Such a good boy tonight Frankie. If you’re good tomorrow maybe I’ll let you gain one friend.” She tells me. 

 

That’s another thing. No friends for me in less she tells me I can. It’s either that or more pain. “Maybe I’ll let you have someone over. Wouldn’t you like that? Being able to talk again?” She’s smirking at me. I would beg, to talk but I know better, she doesn’t like it when I talk in less I’m moaning, and or screaming or the mix of both. She touches her fingers to my hair. “You’re so quiet tonight. Not one outburst. You’re being good. So good tonight Frankie.” She kisses my forehead; I want to throw up at the display of caring affection. “You’re allowed to have one friend Frankie. Just one. But fuck up and forget it. You can talk to one person.” She tells me. 

 

“I...I don’t want to…” I whisper my throat feels wrecked and I feel like I’m going to get sick, but instead I cough into my hand, and feel a sticky liquid, and I realize its blood, blood. I threw up blood. It makes me grow pale.

 

“You don’t want to Frankie? You don’t want to? I thought you would. You like being here alone with mommy don’t you?” She whispers against my ear, and I feel vile in more ways than one. “Go to bed sweetie, if you’re lucky, I’ll give you food tomorrow.” She tells me, and I scurry away before she can change her mind.

 

I crawl onto my bed, and pull the sheets over my body, it’s so weak, and I just barely get by eating from school. I close my eyes and fall into an effortless sleep, my own blood staining my hands.

 

Welcome to my life. 

 


	2. Beautiful Liar

Whenever I wake up, I try not to notice the hunger pangs. It’s hard not to notice them because they hurt so much but then again, I don’t eat at all most of them. I force myself to get dressed, throwing on a blue tee and then a black hoodie over it; I can hear my mother calling for me already. She looks at me smiling when I walk out dressed for school. “Your hands sweetie.” She says to me referring to the blood on them. She has a wipe in her hands, I let her wash away the blood, and it feels better not to have it sticking to my skin.

She hands me a single bagel, that’s my meal for the day. A bagel, nothing more nothing less. “Have a good day baby.” She kisses me on the forehead, and I promptly want to die again. I head out and wait for the bus, taking very small pieces off of it, not enough to be considered even filling but the slower you eat the more it helps you in being less hungry.

The bus comes and I get on it sitting somewhat near the back putting my feet up on the seat, I have about an hour bus ride, not that I complain. I lay my head against the window trying not to think about anything at all, clear my mind forget about my aching body and my stomach. I breathe in and out slowly just trying to ease myself into a peace.

It’s shattered when someone asks me to move over. No one asks me to move over. No one ever asks me to move, it’s usually my seat and mine alone. People usually stay away from me. They don’t go near me. They think I’m an emo kid or something. “Can you move over?” It’s a guy; he’s about my age it looks. He’s a bit skinny and has short brunette hair, and glasses, his eyes are a hazel color.

I don’t give him an answer but I move over pulling my knees up to me and face towards the window. I don’t know how to speak to people. I stopped talking a while ago, I used to know these kids when I was younger but then I lost what I had when mother started hitting me, and she said they weren’t good people. I can feel myself shaking and my fingernails dig into my arms. _Iero calm down. Stop fucking shaking. Someone will notice then you’ll get beat more._ My thoughts are a warning to myself, I stop shaking, but hunger gnaws at my stomach like a knife.

“Are you alright?” The boy asks me.

I can’t find my answer; it’s lodged in my throat. Mommy doesn’t want me to talk to people. She doesn’t want me to talk. Be quiet. Be a good boy. His fingers touch my skin and I jerk away from him as if bitten. _Don’t touch me. Leave me alone. Can’t you see boy that I don’t want to talk._ Another kid starts talking to him, I hear my name, but barely even focus on what they’re saying, and I don’t even realize it when I pass out.

~

It’s later when I’m in the nurse’s office is when the exhaustion hits me like a bus. “You passed out on the bus Frank. You seem to be exhausted; your teachers gave you some work to do in here. You don’t seem well enough to go to class.” The nurse says softly to me and my stomach growls, she’s been dealing with me for two years she knows me better than anyone in this school. “Has everything been alright at home?” She asks me and I nod. “Just checking Frank.” 

She hands me something to eat. “You’re not eating enough, that’s all I’m going to say.” She says to me before turning and helping other students, but before she leaves she says “Thank, Mikey Way he got you your work you missed.” Then she goes to help the students.

Way. Mikey Way. _Why did that sound familiar?_ I tried to think of why that name I seemed to know. I hadn’t talked to anyone after I had been fourteen that was only two almost three years. Comic books. Comics. That was the connection; I had known Mikey before my mother had started beating him. I had known him, but we grew apart and I didn’t remember him, that was the kid I had heard talk to me this morning. He was trying to get me to talk to him again; he wanted me to talk to him. I… I had forgotten he had saw one- no he didn’t see me get beaten someone else did. Someone else did that I couldn’t remember but I knew them. They knew, they saw me screaming for her to stop and they watched wide eyed and helpless.

I felt like I was going to be sick, I bolted over to the bathroom and threw up into the toilet, dry heaving bile and whatever the nurse had given me to eat. I threw up until I physically couldn’t and it hurt. I pulled away from the china wiping my mouth with a paper towel and flushed the toilet. I stood back up and went back over to the cot grabbing a pencil starting on my work, just doing what the teachers had assigned me.

It was midday when I saw that boy again. Mikey. He walked over to me, not saying anything. “So you can write, but you won’t speak? Will you write to me? Frank? I do remember you. Why don’t you talk anymore? Why aren’t you happy anymore?” He whispered, I didn’t have an answer, I ripped a piece of paper from my notebook, and writing was always easier than talking for me now anyway.

 _I’m sorry. I changed. I’m sorry. I can’t change who I am. I don’t like talking anymore._ I wrote on the piece of paper, he read it giving me an odd look.

“You used to talk. You used to say how you were going to play guitar, how you would get tattoos. That you would do whatever the hell you wanted to do.” Mikey says to me, sitting beside the cot.

 _Don’t you have class?_ I wrote.

“I’m skipping.” That was that it seemed, he wasn’t going to lose me again it seemed.

 _I can’t give you answer to why I’m the way I am Mikey. I don’t think anyone will ever know. One person knows, and I can’t even remember them. I shouldn’t even be talking to you right now. I’m not supposed to talk to people anymore…_

Mikey gives me a concerned look. “Frank, what is wrong? What happened to you two years ago? What _happened?”_ Mikey is truly concerned, and I choke. I don’t know what to even say or write, I didn’t think anyone would remember the fact I missed a month of school. A month of it because of that bitch, because she raped me and beat me until I couldn’t get up and starved me for that time- so I got used to it.

“I can’t…I can’t…. I can’t… _tell.”_ My voice is a broken whisper, it doesn’t even sound human anymore. Mikey’s eyes go wide in shock at me even speaking, and before I even know what is happening, I’m pulled into a tight hug, and I feel water fall from my eyes and my body is shaking like hell. I’m so thin, so unfed, and so antisocial, so bruised and no one has done anything like this for me. _No one_.

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry Frank.” Mikey seems to understand, he seems to understand and yet I haven’t said one word to him about the abuse. _Does he know something?_ The bell rings, for dismissal and I want to get sick. I don’t want to go home. I don’t want to see that bitch. I don’t want to. It gets harder each time, leaving. 

I write again. _I have to go, mom’s waiting for me._

Mikey pulls me out of the hug, he doesn’t answer as I grab my bag and walk out the door, and I try my best when I get home not to break down, but I end up screaming and crying when my mother beats me to the point I can’t even move on the ground and I close my eyes on the ground and I look almost as if I’m a lifeless corpse because I’m so thin and I pass out into a dreamless sleep only to be awaken by the nightmare that only my mother can create.

Oh how she loves her “games.”


	3. ”Do you really want me dead? Or alive to torture for my sins?”

I can’t remember the last time I was actually treated like a sixteen year old. I can’t remember the last time I actually felt like a human being. I’m still on the floor; I didn’t have the will to move without screaming out in pain. It’s the weekend anyway, not that it matters much that I’m lying here, the bitch only cares about me if I break a bone- because then she can get into trouble. She hasn’t broken anything on me for a while; it’s been two years since she did that. Exhaustion creeps in no matter how hard I try to fight it. Most of the time I just want to sleep, that can’t be healthy. Then again I’m a teenager so thin you can see my ribcage bones.

That you can see my bones on my frame when I’m not wearing anything, the doctor has already complained that I’m very underweight and that if it keeps up I’m going to have a lot of issues. My mother just says anorexic and she’s been trying to get me to eat. I can’t exactly say that is a lie because I chose not to eat even when I can, it’s a habit, and I’ve gotten sick from eating too much. Her fingers run through my brunette hair. “Tired baby?” _Oh fuck no. It’s one of these moods- one of her lonely moods._

I push myself up with what strength I have and stand up. “Oh Frankie you’re such a good child. You know what your mother wants.” She says smiling to me. I don’t even want to think about what is going to happen this weekend; I don’t know how I survive weeks. “Clothes off Frankie you don’t need them, you know that. You’re not going to school for two days.” My fingers start shaking as I strip of the fabric that is my tee-shirt. If I was by a mirror, you would see black and blue bruises littering my skin, every inch of my skin. Some are faded to a filthy purple color; it’s from my mother hitting me so many times. I don’t even know how I manage to pull off my jeans without an issue, I’m left bare in my boxers and those come off too. I feel vile and I know this is wrong. It makes me feel like a whore and filthy.

“Much better. That isn’t so hard is it baby?” She says to me. She strokes her fingers over my cheek. “You know what tonight it.” She says to me. I feel sick to my stomach. I have been doing this since fourteen, but never have I wanted this. Never. It’s vile and disgusting.

“Mother please…” I whisper, my voice sounds wounded, I can’t even remember the last time I talked to someone that wasn’t her. That didn’t hurt me like this.

“Filthy little whore. It makes me wonder even why I had you Frankie? Why I didn’t abort you!” She hisses at me ranking her nails down my back- drawing lines, I bite my lip ring keeping from making any sound, she likes it better when I scream- when I fight her with this. “You father always loved you more than I did. He always did. He never paid enough attention to me. Get on your knees Frankie.” She doesn’t let me do it myself she pushes me down and exposes herself. I feel sick, I know what she wants me to do. I know what she expects me to do and when my mouth connects with her cunt it makes me want to kill myself- or make myself sick. She holds my head there as she gets off from her own son. It feels like hours that I’m doing this. When she done she kicks me onto the floor like a dog, and I want to dry heavy and that would just make her laugh even more. 

“Aw you poor thing? That wasn’t so bad was it Frankie?” She says to me grinning at me.

“Fuck you.” I hiss. It’s very rare when I try to fight back, I hardly have the strength to do so, when I was younger I used to steal food so I could, now I can’t without someone worrying about me. I don’t want anyone to find out about this. About what happens to me? It’s safer for them if they don’t know me. She slaps me across the face hard for the swearing, it’s not another force to bruise this time, she rather bruises my ass or somewhere no one can see.

 

“The bathroom needs to be cleaned again.” She says to me, and I bit my lip hard. She puts me back into the bathroom, and this time it isn’t just a half hour. Its three hours that I’m over that air vent fighting for air. Three hours with the rag covering my mouth. I feel so weak when she finally does open the door and before I even get out the door I heel over the toilet and spilt up a large amount of blood from my body out of my mouth. 

She sends to me to my room after that and goes out, locking me in my room. I pull my knees up and hold them close to me. I can’t even cry because this happens so much. I’ve lost the tears. It just hurts, it doesn’t make me cry. I walk into my bathroom that’s in my room and stare into the mirror. The boy looking back doesn’t even look like me. I look like- I don’t even know. I’m so thin and bruised and I look like hell. I don’t even know how I’m living.

I go to my school bag (it’s a shoulder bag) and open one of the pouches, I’m surprised to find it isn’t empty. There’s a note, and a few packs of gummy worms in my bag. _Frank, you didn’t see me touch your bag, but you look like you could use something.-Mikey_ It makes me happy that Mikey would risk something like this, but I won’t eat them now, I’ll do it in the dead of night or at school when I need them, I retreat back over to my bed.

And the next day the cycle repeats again, and then there’s school.

_Thank Christ. Thank fucking Christ._


	4. No matter how many breaths that you took you still couldn't breathe…"

It was December when my mother loosened her hold on my abuse. It was always during the holidays because my father tended to visit me for two weeks around this time. She loathed it. She hated that she couldn’t abuse her precious Frankie at the time and that she had to let me talk and act like a normal boy for a month. She had said to me “I’m only doing this so your father doesn’t take you away from me.” She had said to me, I didn’t say anything back, I was just glad- I was glad because even if it was only a month things were normal, it was enough for me. 

Currently right now I was sitting on the bus humming to myself. Most people didn’t know what the hell was up with me considering it was like I was a completely different person- not to mention I was being fed daily now. Mikey got onto the bus, and I moved over for him and he gave me an odd look. “Why are you so happy?” Mikey asked me.

“My father is coming home.” Mikey seemed to know what my problem was at home without me even telling him, it was never voiced but he knew. Somehow he just knew my issues and how to help me and things were good that way. 

“Your dad huh. I guess that’s good news Frank.” Mikey said to me, smiling at bit. 

“Why are you in such a good mood?” I asked him, I was so glad I could talk for at least a month, it felt so much better to do so.

“My brother is on holiday for a month from collage. I’ve missed him like crazy. You should come over.” Mikey says to me. 

The idea of even going to his house makes me happy, get out of my own house for once. Something I haven’t done in years and Mikey is my friend again, and I won’t lose him again as one. “Sure, I might as well.” I say to him softly, and he smiles. 

~

It’s later after school I realize that my mother is quite pissed that I have my freedom but can’t do anything about it till my dad leaves. I’m glad at that as well. Thank god she can’t. Me and Mikey head over to his home chatting as we do so about things- video games comics and other things. Mikey goes on about how he can still probably kick my ass at Mario Kart and I prove him wrong when I play that, and we break out laughing.

Feeling normal. I wish it could last. I wish these moments could last. I’m dreading the day my father leaves and everything falls back apart. I dread it and Mikey looks concerned at me. “What is it Frank?” I write the answer, I don’t want to speak this one.

 _Everything is so perfect now, and after he leaves… things will fall apart… I don’t want them too…_ I may be eating right, but I still am far too skinny and still look like a wreck to a point. Mikey frowns at my words.

“I’m sorry.” He says, and the door to the house opens and I look up. It’s a lanky figure- skinny but not deathly skinny like me. He’s wearing a black button up dress shirt and black jeans with a thin jacket on him. His hair is deep black the inky locks falling almost to his shoulders and his haze eyes look at Mikey before staring at me. There’s something in his eyes, I can’t place when I look at him. It feels like I know him but can’t remember why. “Gee, you’re home early!” Mikey says rushing over to his older brother hugging him.

“Yes Mikes, I’m home. Who’s your friend?” He returns the hug but is staring at me like I shouldn’t be here.

“That’s Frank Iero. Gee is there something wrong?” Mikey asks. 

“No… I just… can I talk to him downstairs Mikes? I need to ask him about something…” Gerard’s voice trails off almost sounding concerned. 

“Sure.” Mikey replies.

I follow him downstairs- his room is down here, and closes the door behind us and he ushers me onto the bed to sit. Gerard sits on the edge on the bed before speaking almost worried. “If I’m right, and I remember you. You have been abused for roughly three years now or longer. If I remember your mother beat me so I wouldn’t tell my mother that she raped you and dunked you under water until you passed out. I don’t know if you remember me, but I watched you get beat from a doorway, I watched you scream and be so helpless.” I want to block him out. I don’t want to remember him. I don’t want to remember my mother did this to some of my friends. That she hurt them.

“Please. I didn’t know…I didn’t know you were there…” My voice is whimper; I never talk about my mother’s abuse to anyone. “I didn’t _know._

“Frank. I’m not going to hurt you. It’s wrong what she has been doing to you. You’ve gotten so thin… did you become Anorexic? She’s hurting you and because of that you have no control over your life.” Gerard says to me.

“I can’t stop her. I never have been able to. Teachers never notice…people believe her lies…”I whisper. 

“You need to speak Frank. You need to tell someone.” Gerard tells me, his fingers are shaking, and his eyes are glossy.

“Why are you going to cry?” I say to the college student.

“It hurts me seeing you abused like this. You used to be so happy, and now everything. It...you…” Gerard doesn’t know what to say and I see a tear roll down his face. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry I didn’t tell anyone that day what I saw. Maybe if I did you would have been happier.” Gerard whispers and he’s shaking.

I haven’t see him this distraught since my mother beat him, and that was the last time I saw him after he got beat by her. I move over to him, and pull him into my arms, my almost bone frame holding him, and he buys his head in my shoulder and clings to me. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I should have told someone. I could have helped you…” Gerard whispers crying to me.

And I don’t even realize it, when my head hits his shoulder and a tear falls down my cheek because he’s right he could of saved me but he didn’t and I can’t help but cling to him because he the only person I know that knows my secret.  
And I don’t know how long we cling to one another’s arms.


	5. Damaged

December went by much too quickly, and I was scared. I knew what was going to happen once my father left me. I would fall into the shadows again, I would get sick on a daily basis, I would be stick thin. I would be raped, I would scream, and wouldn’t be treated as a child- as a human. I wouldn’t be able to be a normal boy. I had found safety in Way family and it would be ripped from me.

“Frankie.” My mother called. I swallowed wanting to throw up already. Bile was biting at my throat. My mother’s fingers nails ranked though my clean hair and I jerked back on a reflex, I had been eating, I had been stronger, it would take weeks to make me as weak as I was. She gave me a nasty look as I moved away. “ _Frankie…_ Her voice was a hiss, and her fingers dug at my scalp as she grabbed my hair, and I bit my lip ringing to keep from yelping.

I kicked her in the shin. I kicked her, and bolted around our dining room table, almost falling over and grabbed my shoulder bag off the ground. I saw her give me a nasty look as I bolted out the door panting, running to my bus stop. I was not going to get as weak as I was this time without a fight. I was not going to lose what I had left to fight with.

I breathed out heavily. I rested against the stop sign catching my breath. It turns out I wasn’t the only one at the stop sign, Gerard was standing there smoking, his eyes staring out into the open; he didn’t seem to notice me. I didn’t feel like speaking honestly, I yawned staring out into the early morning; I still had hours to kill before school. Gerard turned and looked down noticing me sitting on the pavement. “Isn’t it a little early?” He asked me breathing out a puff of smoke.

“Not for my mother apparently,” I said to him staring at his smoke- another thing I shouldn’t of gotten into- I smoke when I can. “Can I have one?” I asked him.

“Aren’t you a little young?” Gerard said to me still handing me the cigarette.

“I’m sixteen, and as old as Mikey. I’m just quiet because of that cunt.” I answer, taking the lit cigarette from Gerard’s fingers. He’s probably the first person I’ve talked to using a full sentence even Mikey doesn’t get much out of me. I feel comfortable around Gerard; he knows what I’ve been though. I take a drag of the smoke watching as I exhale the smoke. I watch it before he speaks.

“You don’t talk much do you?” Gerard says to me softly. 

“Mikey told you I’m guessing?” He nods. “I tend to feel disconnected from people my age, because of what has happened to me. Not many people have had what has happened to me done to them. I don’t voice my thoughts because I got beat for doing that- and starved. I just gave up after a while. She gave me back my food last month because my dad has no idea about the abuse…” My voice trails off and I look away thinking of my father- how I wished I could live with him.

“You sound like me. I never talked to anyone as I got older. I didn’t fit in with anyone. You need to report your mother. Your teachers will notice Frank. You’re not as thin as you were. How many bruises do you have from her?” He asks me.

I swallow. That’s something, I don’t like to mention- my scars- my bruises, my self-infliction that no one sees. One of the reasons why I were hoodies besides the bruises is because I have cut or burnt myself numerous times just so I don’t feel numb. Just so I can feel human by pain that isn’t by her. Gerard seems to realize there is something more wrong with me. “You damage yourself. How?” _How did he even figure that out?_

 

I either cut or make myself sick. I throw up. I’m anorexic; I don’t stomach food right anymore even when I get the proper amount. Other than taking a razor blade against my skin when I can or burning myself with a candle or lighter. I feel my cheeks go pale. I don’t know how to answer his question. “I-I’m sorry.” I whisper as if I’ve been a bad child caught with his hands in something he shouldn’t. 

Gerard holds out his hand, I take it shaking. “It’s not your fault. You hurt. It’s not your fault you’ve been abused.” He tells me squeezing my hand, and I want to break down. “What if you skipped today? Would she care? He says to me. I shake my head no, and he leads me back to his home, and down to his bedroom, and I move to sit on the bed drawing my knees up and clinging to myself. His hazel eyes watch laced with pain.

I undo my zipper on my hoodie, and I reveal the thin navy tee I’m wearing underneath without sleeves, and Gerard, looks at my arms. I look at him as if I’ve been burned as he stares at the scars- burn marks over my arms and crisscrossing lines that are from cutting. That I did to myself. That I wanted to feel. Gerard looks at me, and I’m skinny, he realizes I’m still too skinny, that I’m too thin. 

“Frank you…” He whispers touching an old scar of a burn on my wrist, that has glinting crisscrosses on it in the right light from cutting. His fingers draw back from my skin, and he digs a sketchbook from off the floor, and flips to a page. It’s a sketch of me- but it doesn’t even look like me. It doesn’t look like me at all. There’s a bruise on my cheek, and I can see the drawn bite mark on my neck that my mother created, and the outline of my ribs. I feel sick, my arms are bare of scars- but this was before he knew about those.

“That’s how you see me…” I whisper. “That’s not me…That’s not Frank… That’s mother’s Frankie…”I whisper, I feel like I’m tearing in two. He sets the book down. I’m trembling, and I’m afraid. _What have I become? I used to be such an innocent child…Now I’m just a wreak. A mess. A whore. A cunt. A bitch. An anoxic slut. An emo-bitch, a self-harmer._ I feel the drip of water past my eyes. It’s weak crying but I can’t stop myself from crying. _Why do I get like this around him?_

I feel like I want to die, and Gerard doesn’t do anything but let his fingers cling to mine- trying to let me cling onto what is left of the old me, and I’m falling faster than he can save me.

All I want to say to him is scream two words.

_Save me._


	6. Weight of the World

I did the only thing I could. I bolted away from him. My fingers slipped from his grasp and I ran. I ran because I was scared. I was scared that he actually cared for my safety, the fact he didn’t want me living with my mother. That he wanted me to not be abused anymore. I felt numb and I wanted- I wanted to cut. I wanted to break my skin burn myself. I ran- I didn’t know when I stopped running from him. I didn’t care when I stopped. I just didn’t want to think about him. The fact he cared.

I had stopped running. I was home, but only it wasn’t. It wasn’t. It was a place of abuse and other things. My mother was standing outside the door, her fingers tapping against the doorframe watching me with her eyes. I swallowed, and forced myself to go to her. “Frankie, you skipped…?” Her voice is quiet, and I swallow.

“I’m sorry.” I whisper, she combs her dirty nails though my hair. 

“You’re apologizing? Such a good boy. Frankie.” She smiles at me. She kisses my forehead, my temple briefly. “Did you eat today Frankie?” She asks me, and my stomach drops. I had eaten, she- no no no. _Oh god no.._

“Mother please. I’m sorry. I won’t eat again…” I’m frantic I had forgotten this game. This game. I didn’t like I didn’t like at all. 

“Get the bowl Frankie…” Her voice is a command no room for fighting with it. I fetch the china bowl, one I’ve seen only six times and hated every moment, and I got sick those sick times. “Bend over.” I swallow hard not thinking about what she’s going to do, and the hit comes and it jerks my stomach. The hit to my stomach is just for pain, the my mother sticks her finger to the back of my mouth, and I gag coughing and throw up into the bow, gagging harshly, and I keep coughing throwing up chucks of half processed food into the bowl. I’m hunched over staring at the contents; I know what she’s going to say. I know what she going to make me do.

“Be a good boy Frankie. You know what to do..” I bite back the instinct to throw up again. She knows I hate this. It makes me feel like a dog. My fingers shake as I pick though the vomit and eat the chucks of food gagging as I do so, and I close my eyes. I don’t want to think about it. She laughs at me and I force the vomit back down my stomach objecting and my throat burning. I fall onto my side when I’m done feeling so disgusted with myself to the point I want to get sick. Doing what she just asked me to do makes me feel sick for days and not want to eat.

She smiles at me. “That wasn’t so hard was it?” I swallow, and feel tears pricking at my eyes. “Go to bed. I don’t want to see you down here.” She says to me. 

I don’t object I just do it, and curl into a ball, sobbing because I am scared. It’s because I know Gerard is only trying to help me. That he only wants to save me and I ran from him, and I’m shaking so fucking much, and I’m sobbing into the sheets, the taste of bile heavy in my mouth and I can’t stop crying. I cannot stop sobbing.   
For the first time in years- I realize that’s I’m afraid. 

That I’m scared.

That I would rather be with Gerard, safe in his arms then here. The worst thing is I can only dream of bliss and wake up to an ever going on nightmare that is my life. 

_God help me._ Is my last thought before my eyes slip close, and I dream of being safe in his arms.


	7. Recovered Demons

The taste of bile is heavy when I get up. My stomach, feels like its rolling in circles, I feel so tired. I don’t even know what time it was when I passed out sobbing yesterday. I go over to my bedroom door, managing to pull myself up and my doors locked from the outside. _God fucking damnit._ My mother put me under house arrest, she’s done this before. I go over to my window, its large enough I can climb through it, but before I even am able to do anything- I hear my mother yelling.

It’s mixed profanities- various ones. I hear a voice. An all too familiar voice says something back. A second later my door is yanked open and my mother grabs me by the collar, and my eyes meet Gerard’s own. “Frankie. What did I tell you about talking to strangers?” She asks me, and Gerard’s fingers twitch.

“I didn’t. He remembered me…” My voice is deathly quiet. She glances between me and the boy, and her eyes widen at Gerard’s black hair for a brief second. A smirk plays on her lips.

“You didn’t tell him…” Her voice is devious. She’s smirking at Gerard not me. His fingers twitch again then one ball into a fist. _What is my mother even talking about? He knows about me…_ I look at her confused. She pets her fingers though my hair, and I shiver, not looking Gerard in the eyes. “Did she ever find out? Did you ever tell _Mommy?”_ Gerard swallows, his face losing color.

“Mikey doesn’t know does he? How important he is. What you did so he wouldn’t be like poor Frankie here…” My mother has moved and is whispering into Gerard ear, and he goes paler by the second. “You never told Frankie what I did to you? What happened to you when I found you?” She laughs looking me right in the eyes and Gerard is white and horrified. 

~Flashback Six Years Ago (Frank’s ten)

Mommy has been acting funny. She told me not to talk to people anymore. I don’t understand why she wouldn’t want me to talk to the Way brothers. They’re so nice. I mean they aren’t mean people. Mikey loves to talk to me, he’s nice. I like going over there house to talk with them, and his brother Gerard. He draws a lot, I like it.

But mommy said stop talking to them, and when I refused, I got hurt. She hurt me. She told me to lie the next day at school and said I fell down the stairs. I lied for her hoping she wouldn’t do it again. She did. I stopped talking to the Ways. They kept asking me what was wrong. I ignored them. I went home like a good boy should and did my homework.

She still beat me. I don’t understand why she did. I was lying on the ground by the end of it, and my cheek hurt a lot. I wanted to cry, I didn’t understand why mommy was doing this at all. I had realized then when I was lying on the ground, I saw a pair of scared hazel eyes staring at me before my vision went black and I fell into nothing…

~End Flashback~

“What did you do to _him?”_ I whisper- Gerard doesn’t meet me in the eyes, he looks like he wants to bolt. I move to take Gerard’s hand and squeeze, he stiffens. 

“Frank drop it.” Gerard speaks for the first time in my house- and then I notice it. The bruise, he has a bruise on his cheek. 

I turn to my mother. “You fucking hit _him!”_ I hiss at her, and I want to lunge at her, Gerard grabs me by the wrists, and holds me back. She walks over to me kissing the side of my neck. 

“You are still a child Frankie. I did what he deserved. He saw you lying on the floor all those years ago don’t think I forgot. I remember him. Gee. You used to call him. You used to beg me to stop hitting you beg me to let you talk to him. You missed him so much…” I pull against Gerard, straining against his hold on my wrists. I manage to jerk out of his hold and slap my mother across the face. She stumbles back recoiling, and then looks at me eyes hard. “You _missed_ him.” 

“Shut up. That’s not me. That isn’t me. You made me like that. That’s Frankie. It isn’t _fucking_ me! “I snarl at her. I wouldn’t let Gerard hurt himself for me.

“Gerard let me beat him. He let me rape him. He was older than you Frankie. He was thirteen, he didn’t want me to take his little brother. He didn’t want me to”-

“SHUT UP!” Gerard’s eyes were narrowed on my mother’s eyes. His gaze was lethal, his eyes hard. He was pissed. “Frank doesn’t need to know what the fuck I did for my brother. I came here for one purpose to get him out of here.” His voice is pure venom.

“Just try to take him boy. I mean Gee. I’ll beat you till your ribs are broken….”

“No you won’t.” I spoke. “I’m going with him willingly. I’m sick of this. You are breaking me and you fail to realize that.” I say to her. I go over and take Gerard’s hand standing my ground, for once. For once I’m standing up for myself, and trying to hold on to what I have left of me.

“Frankie. You little bitch…” My mother takes a step towards me. Gerard pushes me behind him, his eyes narrowed at my mother’s. “You are just like you were an arrogant little bitch. I should have never let you out of the house when your father came up here. I should have grounded you. I should have starved you. I should have made you go without food that last month.” She whispers to me taunting me.

“I’m not your dog.” I come out from behind Gerard, and aim a kick to her, and I hit her. I hit her, and it doesn’t bother me. She just laughed at my pain. She doesn’t fall her eyes harden glaring at me. 

“Go ahead Frankie. You’ll come running back. You always do…” 

I don’t answer her as I walk out the door, my fingers tightly gripping Gerard’s hand, clinging onto him like he’s the only hope left, and I try not to think about her.

And the fact she’s right.


	8. Structure

That night I left my mother’s I didn’t look back. I didn’t look in her eyes, I didn’t think about what she had said to me. What she had told me. I had simply left with Gerard and acted as if she never even existed, I had grabbed what I had for clothes and left her. I had left. I needed a way out. She wouldn’t report me as missing, she knew that eventually I would have to deal with her, but for now, I stayed with Gerard.

Gerard had moved out of his house and gotten a small job bartending, to support himself and I. He didn’t have any issues sharing an apartment with me. I on the other hand, I had some issues. A lot of issues. My mother’s habits of not feeding me, or making me get sick had caused me to not like to eat. I could hardly stomach even little amounts of food. Another thing Gerard had worried about is the fact that she referred to me as Frankie and I didn’t think that was me. That Frankie was the one hurting me and causing the harm upon my body. I didn’t believe that was part of me, and Gerard said I needed to let go that go- it was me. He kept telling me, but I said to him. “No it isn’t. It’s “Frankie”...” 

I didn’t understand him. He cared so much about me but I didn’t understand it. He would always look at me while drawing almost lost in thought, before shaking his head and looking back at his sketch as if I wasn’t there. I didn’t get why he even wanted me around at points. He never acted as if I was there. The silence when he was there killed me. It killed me. I didn’t understand why he was so focused on my problems when clearly he had his own. I could remember a little about him- he used to talk a lot to people now he like he didn’t care for conversation. He seemed, more refined in talking, more hesitant, he didn’t like to speak as much.

This day however, things were different. Gerard had already left for work, and I was back from school and it was late evening, and his sketchbook was left lying out on the table, I knew it was an invasion of privacy if I looked but, I couldn’t help myself. I flipped open to the first page, and to my surprise it wasn’t me. He had drawn himself, but not much, a head shot, tangled black locks, and wide hazel eyes. No body, nothing else, just the neck and head, and it wasn’t as good as the drawing of me I saw. I couldn’t figure out why he had drawn that at all. 

I flipped to the next page. There was a date scrawled at the bottom, it was when Gerard was fourteen. It was the same drawing modified, and more details were being shown, in his eyes and the body began to form. The next date- was seventeen. There was a sketch of a boy, I couldn’t place, and Gerard’s fingers laced with his fingers. And on the back of that was the drawing of himself, not detailed again. _Why was he drawing that same sketch? The most recent one was today- the drawing was a full sketch of himself, he was skinny, and his eye had a bruise under it, and was that a bit mark on his neck._

 _I’m sorry. Frank. I never had the chance to tell you. She did beat me that day._ The other sketch beside it was him holding his knees, his arms wrapped around them crying. _My mother did this? She hurt him?_ It didn’t want to process in my mind. It couldn’t. I mean he wouldn’t let that happen right? “Frank?” I heard Gerard’s voice and promptly shut the book.

I felt sick to my stomach. I wanted to get sick. I retreated into the bathroom, coughing. I coughed until bile was coughed up and I dry heaved into the toilet, acid burning at my teeth. I pulled away, flushing it down the drain trying not think about what I just saw. I don’t want to think that he let my mother hurt him. “Frank?” I’m standing by the mirror in the bathroom, my eyes staring at my reflection. Pale skin, skinny almost bones showing, cuts and burns on my arms. My fingers touch the mirror. _Frankie_

Gerard enters the bathroom, he’s looks at me. “Thank Christ. I thought something was wrong.” He says to me. I didn’t answer him, my fingers still touching the mirror. _Is that really me? Am I really Frankie? Is that abused thing me?_ My fingers slip off the glass and drop to my sides. My fingers drift to my neck, touching the area were my mother would bite- mark me, infect me. I let my fingers drop remembering how many lies I told for her, because of her sins. 

“Gerard what happened to you that night? You stopped talking to me- Mikey wouldn’t look at me after that night, he avoided me…” Gerard’s doesn’t meet my gaze.

“Frank, what I did that night. I’m not telling you. You are not ready. My story, isn’t something you should hear now.” He doesn’t look me in the eyes.

“She hurt you…” I whisper. I do care for him. I have for a long time. The feelings I’ve had for him for a long time, I hardly even remember not caring about him. I trust him, and I know he trusts me to a point- I know he does. He’s staring at himself in the mirror. I wonder what he sees, I know what I see, I see Frankie. “Gee… _please_ …” I whisper.  
“Don’t call me that.” His voice is bitter and he turns away, I run up to him, and grab his fingers in mine. 

“Please. What _hurt_ you?” I say to him. I’ve started to talk more but still. It’s not enough. His frame trembles. His fingers grip mine, our hands laced, I hold it tight.

“I can’t. I can’t. _I can’t…_ ”Gerard’s voice sounds broken, it sounds dead. Tears fall from his eyes. He sobs as he speaks again. “I did it for Mikey…I did it for you… I did it because she said…she was going to _murder_ you.” My body breaks into trembles, I can’t focus and I feel tears take my vision, Gerard pulls me into his arms- I barely even realize it. I cry for god knows how long and then, the one thing that jerks both of us from my crying spell is a message.

“Gerard this is Ray. Your brother has gone missing…” 

Then a click, silence and then Gerard screams, before breaking off into a sob. 

I’ve never felt more helpless in my life.


	9. Suffer The Little Children

“ _I hope the angels that watch over all little children  
Came for you and took you someplace beautiful and sweet…_”

Gerard didn’t know how to speak after that message went off. His fingers tried to pick up the phone to call Ray back, but he couldn’t do it. It took him a few minutes before he could. He spoke quietly speaking to Ray about his brother. I didn’t say a word. I had my theory on who did this. I knew who did this. My heart knew who did it. 

My mother. She was the cause of it all. She caused this. It seemed all planned out, and I heard Gerard choke on a sob, as he spoke into the phone. He was such a mess, I never saw him this upset, and he was shaking so much. I knew my mother had something to do with this. Gerard’s eyes bored into mine- as I grabbed at the door. “Where are you headed?” He asked me, still on the phone.   
I didn’t answer him. I headed out the door. I knew where I was headed. I had gotten to my house, the door was open, and my mother was standing there- her hair recently had been dyed a blonde color, her outfit slutty. What caught my attention though was the blood on her hands, the dried blood… it was old. “Where’s your friend Gee Frankie?” She asked me.

I walked up to her. “Why is there blood on your hands?” I said back to her and she smirked. 

“I was having a little fun while my baby was gone. I didn’t do much…” Her smirk breaks into a full grin. _Oh no. Mikey. No. No. No. Please, god no._

“You didn’t… You…” I can’t even finish my thoughts, I push past her, opening the door to the basement, I haven’t been down there in a while. I avoid it- I have some not so pretty memories down there, and as I flick on the light switch and run down the stairs, I see a male figure on the bed. _Oh god no. Mikey no. Please god no._ I move closer to the bed and my voice catches in my throat. 

The figure on the bed- it’s evident he’s been here for a month. His wrists have sliver- it’s from handcuffs and there cuffed against the bed. The person is lying on their back. There’s a large wound on the artery, and blood is splattered against one of the walls- his corpse is naked. By the look of it, he had broken ribs as well, and probably fractures on his wrists from trying to get out of the handcuffs. I want to get sick, it’s a cross between throwing up and crying, but instead I let out a scream laying my head on the wall. He’s dead. Not a trace of left, and I can tell from how thin he is and the marks on his wrists that my mother had raped him, that he had screamed- that he had hit her, and she was lazy and let his dried blood sit on her skin, just because she knew it would kill me. _Gerard…_ I can’t even think, I have no closure right now. I have none at all. If he knew. He would. I don’t even think he would be able to handle it. Mikey’s dead. _That was supposed to be me…_

 _He took my place._ My mother comes down to stand beside me. “You are going to lie, we are going to bring his mother the corpse, and you are going to say you found it by the woods.” She whispers against my ear, I nod helpless; at least his body can be given a proper resting place. It’s later when I go to the Way’s home and give the corpse- the mother meets me in the eyes and asks me to stay over for the night- my mother lets me, saying I’ll be back home later. The mother shuts the door behind me and looks me in the eyes. “Frank what really happened? The body may be clean- but I’ve seen how you act.” Mrs. Way says to me.

I swallow and find it hard to breathe- let alone answer that question. “It was murder…” I don’t raise my voice, I let it stay low.

She swallows hard. “That woman… how can she? She killed my baby. She killed my precious baby. Gerard is going to be devastated.” She says to me. “Frank how often did she starve you?” She says referring to my skinny frame.

“I get one meal maybe a week if I’m lucky.” I reply, and after that she goes silent.

“I’m reporting her, you should go. Gerard is looking for you.” 

I don’t need to be told twice, I slip out of their house, trying not to think about Mikey’s corpse, but when I get back into the apartment, I cannot help to cry sitting on the couch, my arms around my knees, my nails biting into my hands. Gerard comes back in and sees me sobbing, a mess. He kneels down and meets me in the eyes. “Frank?” I look up and my face is near mine, and my stomach gives a funny jerk. 

“Frankie, call me Frankie.” I say to him. He nods and pulls me onto his lap, and wraps his arms around me tightly kissing the side of my neck. “I love you Gee. I love you because you care about me so much and accept me for me. For my faults my imperfections everything. I’m sorry to tell you this. You’re brother. He’s gone. He’s _gone..”_ I hear Gerard’s breathe hitch, and his frame shakes.

“He’s dead… He’s gone…” Gerard repeats as if he doesn’t understand. He doesn’t cry, he just holds me closer, and kisses my neck, once twice, and a third time, and then lays his head on my shoulder. We remain like that for the remainder of the night, me crying for him, and not the other way around. I’m crying his tears- because we know that Mikey isn’t coming back.

That the little brother Gerard loved so much is dead, and so is his reason for fighting- his reason for saving me and I cling harder. 

Because I realize two things. One I’m scared to lose him. The second I’m in love with him. Not just the friendly type I love him. 

And that’s starting to kill me, and our fingers are clasped, as I fall asleep against him against him, exhausted.

I love you Gee. If only you knew.


	10. “I tried to save you but can’t find the answer…”

I don’t even want to wake up. My body is warm when, I’m in the half sleep-half wake phase. My fingers are still laced with Gerard’s but I shifted in my sleep. My body moved the other way and my head is laying on his shoulder my lips towards the skin of his neck. His other arm that isn’t clasped with mine is around my waist, I’m warm and how it is right now is comforting. Gerard is blissed out in his sleep away from all his worries of his life- the fact Mikey is dead.

I can’t get over the fact that she would murder a child. The way I found Mikey’s body. I didn’t even want to tell Gerard the way he died. I feel him shift in his sleep, and it moves me a little due to our laced fingers. He opens his eyes blinking, his fingers tight in mine. “Frank?” He says a little dazed; I can tell he’s tired.

“I’m here.” I answer, I haven’t moved from where I am. He squeezes my fingers again, and I really don’t want to move but I know I’ll have to. Gerard kisses my forehead, his eyes lost in thought. It scares me; I really don’t want him to hurt himself. “Gerard are you okay?” I ask him, he doesn’t answer at first.  
“I think. I think after they hold the funeral, I’m going to head back to New York and you’re going to live with your father and if he doesn’t take you then you’ll go into foster care.” Gerard says to me, and my blood freezes. He’s leaving me again- he’s leaving because he’s scared. He doesn’t want me to see him like this.

“Gerard you’re running away from”-

“Frank. Shut up. This is your fault. He died because of _you_. If I didn’t talk to you- he would still be with us, Gerard pushes me off him and I fall with a thump on the floor, and it hurts because I’m so thin. 

“Gerard…”I whisper my lips forming a tight line, I feel like I’m going to break. I didn’t just hear him blame me for Mikey’s death. What if he is right though? It was my fault. “I didn’t. It wasn’t because of me…” I whisper, he moves away from me getting up, and he grabs a sketchbook and a set of charcoal, before vanishing into his room and I hear a click of his lock on his door.

I grab the phone off the table dialing my dad’s number trying not to think about what Gerard said. My dad picks up at once, and he sounds surprised when he hears me speak. “Hey, Frankie how are you?” I swallow at the nickname were it came from- my father gave it to me when I was little but now it’s like a split person to me.

“I’ve been better. Dad, I need to talk to you about something.” I say quietly into the phone.

His response is a quiet go on and I begin telling him what mom did to me and why I look so thin. Why I was always so happy to see him, and that I missed him and I wanted to stay with him. “Oh Frank. I had no idea son. I can’t take you, I barely get by and I get sick badly. I almost didn’t visit you this year. You might have to go into adoptive care, I wish I could take you but I can’t son.” My father tells me, and I swallow and feel my tears fall. “I’m sorry,” I hear by him before he hangs up and I set the phone down and I can’t feel anything.

I grab Gerard’s lighter off the table, and a thing of gauze. I take the lighter and head into the bathroom, and flick the lighter drawing the flame, and hold it against the flesh of my wrist. The feeling stays numb at first, until the skins heats up more and more, before I see the redness of my skin and the rawness and I feel the burn of it. It doesn’t make me scream, I just applied the medicine needed before wrapping it, hiding another set of new scars under my skin.  
I set the lighter on the sink looking at myself in the mirror. I’m still paler than normal and I still look underweight. I still look like Frankie not Frank. “Frank?” It’s Gerard’s voice, he sees me staring in the mirror. 

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to say that…” I look at him, and I see a glimmer of red underneath his sleeve. He didn’t. I swallow, and I look at him. I don’t want to think he just hurt himself. I don’t want to. “Frank?” He speaks again, and I don’t answer. I can’t. 

“Frank. What’s wrong?” Gerard’s voice repeats itself, and he’s concerned, he’s very concerned. 

“Leave me alone. You don’t need me. I should probably pack my things. You said it yourself, foster care is an option.” I say to him quietly, and his eyes freeze. I don’t meet his gaze, I turn away and head to grab a bag with my things, Gerard grabs me by the wrist and I feel myself stiffen and my cheeks flush. 

“Frank I didn’t mean it- I would send you money to live here and for food. I wouldn’t forget about you...” Gerard says to me. I try to pull my wrist from his grip.

“Maybe I want to forget about you. _Gee!_ ” I hiss at him jerking my hand from his grip exposing the gauze which makes his eyes widen, and I head towards the door. 

“Frank. Please damnit. Don’t do this. You don’t have the chance if you leave for the state. You might not see me again.” I swallow at his words.

“I’ll just have to take that chance won’t I?” I say to him, and he walks forward to me and laces one hand with my own and looks me straight in the eye, almost looking as if he’s going to cry. 

“Frank, I care about you. Please, I didn’t mean it.” He whispers his other hand taking my face in his hand, and I look straight into hurting hazel eyes.

“I can’t stay. It’s not right Gee. I’ll end up using you...” I jerk out of his grip again, and he stands there looking at me bewildered, I’m on the verge of breaking down.  
“Frankie. _Please._ I don’t care if you do. Don’t leave me here alone.” Gerard’s pleading, he needs me. I want to stay but it’s wrong. He doesn’t like me like I like him. He’s not in love with me. He needs to cling onto for someone to be there when he breaks. I can’t. I’m not strong enough. I’m still not. I’m still Frankie. 

“I can’t.” I choke out and my tears are heavy. His eyes are so painful to look at right now as he sees me shatter into pieces. Little pieces. His fingers squeeze my hand and he pulls me into a painful hug, and holds me there for what feels like hours. Gerard whispers onto my ear. “You have no idea how much this hurts me to see you like this. You have no idea how much I love you.” Gerard whispers into my ear, and I feel my tears drip down my face.

“I’m too young. We can’t. I can’t. Not now.” I say to him, and it’s tearing us at the seams and tearing us apart. It hurts- the feelings hurt us because we both know right now isn’t the time and place. Gerard needs to wait until I get better, and get older. Maybe then we can both work what this out. “I love you so much it hurts.” I say to him, and he takes my chin in shaking fingers and kisses me for what I’m worth. 

The kiss itself will probably be my last one for a while. It’s so tender, and so heartfelt and so careful that it makes me believe Gerard doesn’t want to break me. It’s the press of our lips that makes me calm, and let things go and forget about everything that has happened to me. He laces his fingers though my own squeezing and we part the kiss, my mind in a pleasant buzz, and tears are glistening from Gerard’s eyes. “I don’t want to lose you.” He tells me.

“You won’t. _Promise._ I’ll keep in touch. You’ll see me again someday; when I’m older things will be easier.” I tell him kissing his knuckle of his hand before unlacing my fingers from his. “I love you.” I tell him and he mouths the words back. Even as I leave, I find it hard not to rush back into his comforting arms, but I know it’s right- I know it’s right what I’m doing. I need to get better first- we both do. 

I know in my heart no matter what- I still love him and someday we’ll meet again but for now, I need to fix and mend my life.

I love you Gerard. Until we meet again.


End file.
